This is the story of the journey of my life. Travel can be hard work. So much to see. So little time. So many missed connections. So much lost luggage. But every stop, every detour, every challenge along the way provides a lesson to be learned. Traveling mercies to us all.

Monday, November 12, 2007

Home again, home again

The view from the window this morning when I awoke in the guest room in my friend's house. Words failed me then; they fail me now.****************************************************************************

Just back from a long weekend getaway. I spent the past four days hanging out with the writing group I'd been part of while I was still living in Connecticut.

Heated discussions. Chilled wine. Hot tea in Susie's kitchen. Cold walks in New York City. A shocking art exhibit by Kara Walker at The Whitney Museum. A disturbing movie about the war in Iraq called "No End In Sight." Cozy warm nights in bed. A spectacular sunrise over the ocean this morning. A bad fall on the rocky shoreline a few hours later and a deep cut in my right palm. (Steve said I should have gone to the hospital for what he thinks would have been between two and four stitches. If I had done that, I would have missed my return flight to Charlotte.)

Memories to document in my journal.Stories to write here on the blog.Photographs to organize on the computer.

But first, I need to unpack my suitcase.I need to fold a load of laundry.I need to make sure the house in clean and in order.I need to get as many hours of sleep as possible.Lisa is coming tomorrow.

It is good to be home again.Good to get away.Good to be back at home.

Less than an hour before leaving for the airport, I ventured down the steps from Susie's patio to the tiny patch of rocky shore seen here. Less than ten seconds after reaching the bottom of the steps, I slipped and fell. I scrambled to my feet quickly, brushed myself off, and hoped no one had seen my moss-induced collapse. Even before I looked at my hand, I knew the wound was deep.

"But what the heck? I'm down here," I thought. "I may as well look around at the rocks and the stones." So I lingered a while. Gazed out at the water. Closed my eyes and listened to sound of the waves lapping close by. As I made my way back to the staircase and up to the house, I slipped again. Ouch. Double ouch.

About Me

If you will allow me, I will quote The Count of Monte Cristo: "I'm a writer, not a saint. I'm imperfect, and so are my writings. These are my spiritual yearnings and tainted expressions of love, hacked as best I can onto thin sheets of wood pulp (or in my case, onto a thin keyboard), in a fallen world, with my flawed perceptions, feelings, desires, and misguided intentions. In a nutshell, this is me; live with it. Don't read this unless you really want to see all of me, even the not-so-pretty parts. But if you really want to know me, keep on reading."